


The War Consultation Social

by Jubalii



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Gen, Given the circumstances, Ladies of the RTC, OVA-Verse, Original Character(s), Pre-Canon, Preteen Integra, Tea Parties are boring, Walter is the best dad he can be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 00:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9467234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubalii/pseuds/Jubalii
Summary: Because she's both young and a girl—heaven help her—newly appointed Sir Integra Hellsing is forced to stay upstairs with the women instead of being allowed to attend the Conference. But perhaps she could learn a thing or two from the Ladies of the Round Table?





	

            Sir Integra might have been stuck between childhood and the cusp of womanhood, but that didn’t make her any less prominent among her peers. That’s what she liked to think, in any case, and scenarios like this only made her sullen and angry at the world. Despite her performance as the head of her family, the men of the Round Table looked down on her as a ‘little girl’ and excluded her from many of their meetings. And when she insisted that she needed to be in the loop, they merely patted her head and told her that _Walter_ could come in her stead! As if Walter was the one commanding soldiers from the main study!

            “Walter,” she addressed the man now as they drove the streets towards the Penwood home, where this month’s meeting was scheduled to be held. She tried to sound firm and assertive, not whiny or complaintive. “I don’t _want_ to go to Sir Penwood’s house unless I can go to the meeting as well.” She crossed her arms, glowering at the world out the window. Since it was only her and Walter, she had opted to sit in the passenger seat next to him rather than in the back where she really ought to have been. Her guardian butler laughed good-naturedly, but didn’t respond. It prompted her to add, “I _sincerely_ don’t want to sit in some stuffy parlor and drink tea with a bunch of other women.” She kept hoping that if she referred to herself as a woman, others would start seeing her as one too.

            “Now, now,” Walter finally consoled her as they waited for the light to change. “Leader of the family or not, you’re still a bit young for a meeting like this one. You wouldn’t find it very interesting, anyway.” She highly doubted that; adults always labeled the most interesting things as boring. She half-thought they did it only to keep prying children away, and she was most definitely not a child anymore. There was no reason that she couldn’t go to the meeting as well. It was only proper, wasn’t it?

            “But I’ll miss the most important things, and then I’ll be behind on news,” she protested. “How can I manage an organization if I’m behind?”

            “I’ll take notes for you; don’t bother yourself about that,” he assured her calmly. “You just relax upstairs with the ladies and it’ll be over and done with before you know it.” She had the distinct feeling that he was laughing at her in his head, even though he was stoic enough on the outside. “Besides,” he added a little ruefully, “you need to spend time with other women.”

            “I don’t see why,” she replied stubbornly. He sighed, staring at the wheel when the light changed on them again before they could get past it. He seemed to be struggling with something.

            “It’s just that I can’t teach you everything,” he finally blurted out, looking almost puzzled as he watched the wheel instead of the light as he should have been. “There are some things that you just need a female to tell you about instead of old Walter.” She almost laughed his ’old’ remark; he only had a few wrinkles here and there, he wasn’t old _yet_. She thought about voicing that thought, but decided against it.

            “Like what?” she asked instead, genuinely curious. Walter knew almost everything there was to know about anything, it seemed. He knew about weapons and soldiers, all about proper housekeeping, and even odd facts about plants, animals, or astronomy. It was hard to believe that he couldn’t tell her about whatever it was that she might need to know. To her surprise he blushed deeply, unable to meet her gaze and instead pressing down hard on the gas the moment the light changed. They shot forward and he tapped the brake to compensate as they cruised the street.

            “I—I wouldn’t know,” he stammered, fingers tapping nervously on the wheel. “I’m not a woman.” He cleared his throat loudly, the expression on his face letting her know that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “We’re almost there,” he said, changing the subject abruptly. “Only a bit farther now.”

            “Don’t remind me,” she muttered, watching the roofs of the glamourous houses pass by as she sunk down in the seat. She wondered why Hellsing manor had been built so far from the other Knight’s houses, when it could have occupied any other space on the street. Something set it apart from the others; was it because the soldiers actively practiced there? No, it couldn’t have been—she’d been to Lt. Walsh’s house, and they practiced on his expansive lot as well. What was it that had made her family so standoffish, that they’d distanced themselves from everyone else? Or… had it been the other way around, where everyone else had distanced themselves from the Hellsings?

            They turned onto to the small circular portion of asphalt that separated the gate from the main road, and she waited while Walter exchanged pleasantries with the doorman through the speaker. The gate swung open with oiled efficiency, allowing the car to pass through to the expansive driveway. Integra stared gloomily at the large estate with its perfectly manicured lawn and neat shrubbery separating the gardens. She could see Sir Penwood’s efficiency in the crisp, straight hedgerows and Lady Penwood’s colorful aesthetic in the flowers that sat clumped beyond them. They pulled up next to a large marble fountain that spat water in flowing cascades over frolicking frescos of smiling merpeople.

Integra hesitated, but Walter turned off the car and went over to open her door for her, so that she had no choice but to get out. She brushed imaginary dust from her long skirts before adjusting her glasses, looking up at the formidable panes of windows. The house loomed above her threateningly, as if silently judging the small creature that stood on the walk before it. Walter smiled and led the way up the walk; she followed habitually, used to trailing behind him from her infancy. He had often referred to her as a lost little duckling when she was a mere tot, wandering the halls and clutching at his pants legs while he worked. Some small part of her knew that as the head of the family, she ought to have taken the lead, but following after him had become almost instinctive.

The doorman let them in and they waited in the posh front hall while the steward announced their arrival. Walter stood with a calm demeanor, every muscle relaxed as he waited. She tried to follow his subtle example, but her eye kept catching the lavish décor of the room and she stared about, oblivious to the doorman’s curious gaze. Personally, she liked her foyer better.  Lady Katherine had a knack for clutter that collected dust, or would have had she not personally trained a fleet of servants to live up to her high demands. While the Hellsing home’s furniture was sparse, yet functional and stylish in its own minimalistic way, the Penwood home _teemed_ with knickknacks and plump cushions embroidered with kittens. She was taking in the sight of a statue-d trio of fat-bottomed cherubim reclining on clouds when the steward returned, flanking the master of the house.

“There you are, Walter,” Sir Penwood greeted him rather indifferently, one hand already fishing for a handkerchief. He sweated more than any man Integra had ever seen, despite his reluctance to exert himself. She assumed the perspiration was from stress and not heat, and yet he never seemed to hurry anywhere either. He _did_ wear an expression of perpetual exasperation, but then again he was often beleaguered by something she’d done, or said, or asked of him; she could never tell if that sad, pressured look was meant for her alone, or if he always wore it. Of course, when one’s wife was Lady Katherine Penwood, exasperation might just become the norm….

In any case, he seemed to silently wish that the world would leave him alone with his work, and Integra felt in _that_ something along the lines of a kindred spirit. If he wasn’t the man in charge of her wellbeing—insofar as much as an absent godfather _could be_ in charge—she thought that they might have been good acquaintances. Then again, all of the other knights also seemed to think that _their_ work was the most important, and anything stopping said work was just too big of a hassle to ignore. She often wondered if her father had acted that way as well, and if she in turn might someday wake up with the inner voice of a crotchety old geezer.

“And youn— _Miss_ Integra,” he greeted her, and she noticed that despite his unchanged expression, his tone did soften a bit when he spoke to her. “You’re very welcome too,” he added, looking down at her as though he had no idea what to do with her. He’d done the same thing when he’d first met her, and Walter had introduced her as both his goddaughter and her late father’s successor.

“Hello, Sir Penwood,” she responded civilly, hands behind her back as she looked up at him. Privately, she couldn’t help but think that she would be very pleased when she grew taller than him and he had to look up at _her._ Walter had told her that her family had all been very tall, and she hoped that the genes had passed to her. He continued to look at a loss, but he blinked twice and his face morphed into his usual agitated expression.

“I suppose now that you’re here, we can begin; Sir Irons has been beside himself with impatience….” he told Walter, before turning to the steward. “See that Miss Integra joins the other ladies,” he ordered before turning and walking away without another word. Walter hopped to attention and followed him, leaving Integra alone with the steward. For a quick moment she thought about putting up a fight to go with the men, but decided against it almost immediately. Her father’s words echoed in her mind: _It’s fine to be however you are at home, but abroad one must always put on the face of proper gentry._ A proper Englishwoman wouldn’t whine and wheedle because she didn’t get her way, no matter how angry she was deep within. So she stifled her sharp words and instead obediently followed the steward up the elegant staircase and down the finely carpeted halls towards the parlor.

The parlor itself was nearly as ‘Katherine’ as a room could be. The wallpaper was gilded white, the carpet was spotless white, the couch cushions a brilliant white with baby doll pink accents. Lace doilies covered every available surface, crystals hanging from the chandelier and lamps, and cutesy figurines lined up in perfect rows along mantel and bookcase alike. China hens laid their eggs on the unused ottoman, and an entire wall was dedicated to an expansive dish collection featuring two brown and white spaniels playing in a wildflower meadow. One shelf above the door was solely for porcelain dolls in Victorian wear, their little painted fingers holding fragile parasols and folding fans. In this room, nauseating as it was, Integra was left to fend for herself as the steward beat a quick retreat.

There were eleven women scattered along the frilled cushions of the sofas, one for each of the men that were right now sitting down with Walter to discuss what to do about Russia, or how to handle the English/American situation as a whole. She would have given anything to be down there, in the midst of the men, arguing her point just as loudly as the rest while choking on the somewhat attractive, yet pungent fragrance of mixed cigarette and cigar smoke. No matter what horrors they were talking about down there, it paled in comparison to the sight of the women, perched on the sofas and grabbing cakes and cookies from the coffee table while they chatted.

“Young Miss Hellsing,” the steward managed to say, halfway down the hall but still loud enough that the women heard. They turned as one, peering over the backs of sofas and around the arms to see her standing in the threshold. She colored (she _hated_ it when servants called her young, as though she were five years old or something), but she didn’t comment on it. _Proper gentry, proper gentry_ ….

“Integra!” The loud voice of her godmother rang out in the silence. “Come in, come in darling!” She stood up and made her way over, getting uncomfortably close before wrapping Integra in an embrace resembling a constrictor’s hold. Integra shrank away from the woman’s affection, unsure of how to handle it; the only women she’d known before her father’s death were the female servants, who never touched her at all, and Cook. Cook was a large woman with the same build as Lady Katherine; however her affection was not shown in hugs and kisses, but rather in fresh cinnamon buns and an a fond pat on the head, if anything. Integra would rather deal with Cook’s no-nonsense attitude than be forced to put up with constricting arms and having her face shoved into folds of plump, warm flesh. But Lady Katherine was just different, wanting to call her ‘love’ and ‘darling’ and dress her up as though she were another one of those prissy china Victorianas sitting pristinely on the shelf.

She wasn’t the type of woman that Integra had assumed would be Sir Penwood’s wife. She’d imagined a small, scrawny, nervous woman who kept a never-ending supply of handkerchiefs for her husband’s sweaty habits in her clutch. But Lady Katherine was the very definition of ‘plump’; she wasn’t obese, but had enough fat on her to give her some girth. It made for those very squishy, suffocating hugs that Integra wasn’t _entirely_ sure if she enjoyed or not. And she wasn’t nervous, either. She was loud, willful and made sure that the entire room knew her opinion without a care for anyone who dared to think different. The only thing that matched Integra’s mental description was the multitude of embroidered handkerchiefs that always appeared at exactly the right moment.

She froze as the tight embrace lasted longer than expected, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks and shifting uncomfortably, shoulders tensed. What was the proper protocol for hugging? No one ever seemed to say anything about it, instead knowing instinctively how to behave. Was she the only one that didn’t know what to do? Was she supposed to return the hug, despite whatever her internal feelings might be? Or was she just supposed to stand there and take it? Just standing awkwardly seemed—well, awkward. But that was all she knew how to do, so she became a living statue and held her breath. When she was released, her lungs released all the air as well in a long, low _whoosh;_ the gentlewoman didn’t seem to notice, perfectly manicured nails resting on the younger girl’s shoulder as she whisked the child to sit in a seat of honor next to her.

Integra sank back into the soft cushions, trying to keep herself afloat long enough to settle the cup of tea she was handed. Her feet weren’t able to reach the ground, so she finally found a relatively comfortable position by subtly tucking her right foot beneath the knee of her left leg and using one of the harder accent pillows to support the small of her back. A plate of cakes, some drizzled with honey or fruit preserves while others were doused in a fine snow of powdered sugar, was passed to her and she took one, surprisingly peckish despite having a decent lunch earlier. When the plates were finished being passed, there were sweets piled high enough that Cook would have been proud to see her pack them away. 

The women continued their conversation as if she wasn’t there, which was—in a way, at least—what Integra wanted. It left her in peace to drink her tea without having to pause in order to answer unnecessary questions or add to the conversation. As she ate, she let the conversation wash over her without really paying attention to it, instead looking at the women themselves. She’d always loved people watching, and there weren’t many chances to see so many diverse people in the same room, especially when your butler didn’t approve of you mingling in with the ‘common crowds’.

Sitting directly across from her was the formidable Lady Marjorie Irons; she was _exactly_ the sort of wife Integra had imagined for the stalwart and stuffy Sir Irons. Thin and bony with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue, Lady Irons had a habit of snapping her fan shut and pointing it threateningly whenever she spoke. She was condescending and Integra thought her cruel, though Walter and Cook both insisted that she had her merits and besides, it wasn’t ladylike to speak poorly of one’s elders. And perhaps she _did_ have some redeeming qualities somewhere within the confines of her bony breast, but Integra couldn’t—for the life of her—figure out what they were. She seemed to have a negative opinion of everything, including her own family. Even now she sat with pursed lips, shaking her head in response to whatever topic was pouring amply from Lady Katherine’s mouth.

Sitting to Lady Iron’s right was Lady Marie Walsh, the wife of the quiet, elderly-yet-dashing Lt. Walsh. She was a teeny little snippet of a woman, and looked odd sitting next to the tall Lady Irons. She was also the youngest of the party, her hair having only the lightest hues of silver at her temples and the finest of lines around her always smiling mouth. Lady Marie— she insisted on being called by her Christian name rather than her surname— was perpetually cheerful and sweet, with never a bad word to say about anyone or anything. Integra thought that she could even talk _Alucard_ up to sainthood in her quiet Cumberland tones; her chief talent seemed to be minimizing people’s flaws.  Integra liked her very much, if only for her soft-spoken nature and gentle smile.

Lady Grey was to Lady Iron’s left, seated as though she had a rod up her spine. Integra wasn’t even sure what her given name was, having only heard her called Grey. She was a very pensive woman, always strict in religious edict and morality. She always thought doubly hard before speaking, especially when answering questions, and she was never seen without her hair being done up in tight, headache-inducing bun. Lady Katherine often joked when no one else was around that Lady Grey _showered_ with her bun intact. Integra liked her intelligence, but she was always spouting morals as though she’d memorized them from some book and it often annoyed her.

Three women of the same medium build were crammed together on the settee; Lady Foxx on the right, Lady Summerland on the left, and Lady Winters shoved in-between like toppings on a finger sandwich. Lady Foxx was a rather droll creature that was always worried over her health; Integra couldn’t help but sarcastically think that she was oh so _brave_ to face the germy world outside her own home as often as she did, and was secretly happy that she never found a reason to call on Hellsing manor. To tell truth, anyone could tell that her nervous disposition was really an inability to handle the daily hassles of life. Integra thought that having a tendency to hysterics must be a very boring lifestyle, since Lady Foxx was supposed to do everything to keep them from coming upon her. Thankfully, it didn’t take much to send her into a dead faint so she was never too put-upon.

Lady Summerland and Lady Winters were identical twins. Integra could tell them apart only by their smooth braided buns; they pulled their hair in opposite ways, so that the gray streaks of Lady Winters’s hair ran to the right and Lady Summerland’s to the left. They both had striking green eyes and their hair, before growing dull with age, must have been very beautiful with an ebony sheen. They were both quiet, amiable women who had a habit of finishing the other’s sentences and laughing in the same octave, which was both amusing and eerie until one got used to it.

Lady Montgomery sat in a chair to herself next to the settee. She was from France, and despite having lived on the island for more than thirty years she still spoke in such a thick accent that sometimes she had to repeat herself two or three times before anyone could understand her. Integra was always amused by her dark eyelashes, which were naturally long. They were pretty in their own way, but she had admittedly thought of a camel when she’d first saw them. She also never tired of hearing Lady Montgomery’s firsthand stories about the ‘ _Forces françaises de l’intérieur’_ , as she called the French resistance. 

Lady Campbell sat on the third sofa, which had been wedged between the arms of the other two and stood across from the chair and settee. She was the most boring of the wives, hardly speaking at all unless there was a complete lull in the conversation. Even her looks were boring, from her freckled face to her mousy brown hair and dull muddy eyes. Lady Winslow sat next to her, laughing at everything with an irritatingly airy laugh and holding her hand in front of her mouth as though afraid that her teeth might jump out and run away. On her other side sat Lady Herveaux, who was portly and had no more character than the hens sitting on the ottoman; she didn’t seem to have an original through in her head, instead only agreeing with everyone else. Integra supposed that, other than rounding out the Conference’s wives, she served no great purpose.

“Ugh! Filthy thing!” For a moment, she had no idea what Lady Irons meant and went ahead with her absentminded thoughts, wondering if Lady Herveaux might one day surprise them all by being some sort of criminal mastermind that hid in plain sight. It was only when everyone grew quiet and the sentiments were repeated that she looked up to see herself as the center of attention. “Filthy, filthy girl!”

“Excuse me?” Integra managed to ask, shocked into civility. What had she done? In the back of her mind, she knew that she needn’t have done anything to become the target of Lady Iron’s wrath, but she was still used to actually having to put forth an effort to be naughty before being singled out. Still, this polite question only made the woman even more vexed than before.

“Don’t you sit there and act innocent in the face of your misdeeds!” Lady Irons crowed with narrow eyes. “The proof is all over your fingers!” And with this, the folding fan snapped shut and pointed in the direction of the criminal digits. Integra looked down at her hands, trying to decide what was so wrong about them. Nothing seemed to be the matter, and she looked over at Lady Katherine in puzzlement.

“What’s the matter?” Lady Katherine asked for her, sounding as puzzled as Integra felt. Lady Irons scoffed, shaking her head.

“As though you’re blind, Kitty!” she fussed, using the woman’s nickname. “Just look at her filthy little fingers, covered in sugar! Where do you think you are, child?! The East End?!” It was true; she had the remnants of one of the sugared cakes on her fingers. But what was she supposed to do? They were made to eat with one’s hands, weren’t they? She was ready to defend herself with these words, but before she could open her mouth Lady Katherine was speaking for her again.

“Oh let her alone, Margie!” the plump woman clucked as she handed Integra another napkin. “Here, dear. Wipe your fingers off so that Lady Irons will be happy,” she added in an undertone, along with an eye roll for Integra’s benefit.

“Yes, let the poor dear be,” Lady Summerland agreed quietly. “She’s nothing but a child anyway. I say we should let her eat as she pleases.” She took a sip of her tea, oblivious of the scowl Integra sent her way. Even up here, they were looking down on her. What did she have to do to be seen as a proper lady, the same as them?

“I do it myself,” Lady Marie said, gracing Integra with one of her soft smiles. She held up one hand and wiggled the fingers. “What’s life for, if not to get a little messy when eating sweets? Or are you going to call me a dirty slum-heathen too?” she teased.

“Correcting children for their sinful faults is the job of every adult, no matter what their own slovenly habits are,” the woman replied tersely. She crossed her legs and looked down her nose at Lady Marie. “You certainly have never seen anything on _my_ fingers,” she added.

“Well, no, I canna say that I have,” Lady Marie agreed after a moment’s pause. “But I still say that there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s certainly not sinful.”

“Certainly not!” Lady Katherine repeated in a loud tone. “Whatever put that notion into your mind, Margie?” She tsked as she shook her head.

“That doesn’t matter,” Lady Irons retorted coldly. “If Walter would take the time to train her properly, she’d not have gotten her fingers dirty in the first place.” The air changed and grew thick with anticipation; Lady Foxx paled and busied herself with her teacup, as if seeing something in the near future that Integra couldn’t. “But then again, I suppose the real training in etiquette should have gone to her father, and we can certainly call that a failure that never happened,” she scoffed. Her nose turned even higher. “Perhaps you ought to have forced yourself a little more, Kitty.” There was a longer pause, and the hair on Integra’s neck stood up. Lady Foxx’s teacup began to rattle.

“Perhaps I should’ve,” Lady Katherine responded in a near whisper, not unlike herself at all. Integra felt something in the air that set her on edge, and she knew that whatever Lady Irons had meant, it was far deeper than the outwardly impression that her father had never taught her any manners. Integra could feel that it wasn’t for her own benefit that Lady Katherine was in this state—it was something purely between the two women. “But I also,” she added in a voice calm with conviction, and yet so filled with outrage that it was near impossible to believe that she wasn’t screaming her head off, “I also know how to respect a dear friend’s wishes, no matter what the consequences ended up being.”

“Some people would find _that_ in itself a fault,” Lady Irons replied in the same tone, calm and yet clipped. The other women were as still as the dead; Lady Marie alone looked as though she wanted to say something to diffuse the situation, but she must not have been able to think of anything worthy of saying aloud as she remained silent.

“Well, Marjorie,” Lady Katherine said as she took a sip of tea, “since you’re so keen on finding fault in everyone today, please enlighten me on how I might have shaped her up better than Walter ever could. After all, I eat with my fingers too.” It sounded like a challenge, and Integra could already tell that this was going to end up badly if Lady Irons took the bait.  The other woman licked her lips, uncrossing her legs and drawing herself up to her full height as she narrowed her eyes at them from across the coffee table.

“Her lack of table manners is only the tip of the iceberg, Kitty dearest.” At this, Lady Marie managed to cut her way in.

“Come now, Kitty, Margie, let’s not quarrel,” she said breathlessly, her wide brown eyes flitting from one tense figure to the other. “Integra is a fine young lady, and she’ll be a fine woman no matter who raised her. Arthur put good values in her and Walter, well… Walter’s a fine man now; Oxford took care of a great deal of his faults—”

“That _bovver boy_ that fancies calling himself a butler is no more fit to care for a house than he is a child.” Lady Marie’s mouth closed with an audible sound, her expression one of pure shock. Lady Irons ignored her, fan now idly flapping through the air and blowing the gray curls from her face. “He’s the only thing she has for a moral compass; that’s the only reason I don’t _completely_ blame the child. And as for your earlier input, _Katherine_ , I assume that had you taken her as you wanted when she was born, she’d have at least looked decent.”

“What’s wrong with her looks?!” Lady Katherine protested, her voice rising to shouting level. Integra felt more taken aback than insulted, because secretly she was thinking the same thing. She looked down at her clothing, wondering if perhaps food had gotten on them as well. Her shirt was white, so any sugar would have been invisible, and her blue skirt was as spotless as when she had first arrived. Walter had, as always, ironed her clothing for her so there were no wrinkles. She honestly had no idea what Lady Irons meant. The woman in question turned on her with a critical eye, shaking her head with tight, bloodless lips.

“Really, just _look_ at her,” Lady Irons sighed abjectly, as though she couldn’t stand the sight before her. “For one, her hair is all in her face and half-brushed, but even that could be looked past if it weren’t for those _glasses_.” She scoffed, nose twisting in disgust as she stared right into Integra’s eyes. “No girl—no girl with a mother, at least—would ever be permitted to wear such ridiculous, oversized frames. I sleep at night only because I believe that somewhere in the world, good, God-fearing men and women are keeping their children properly dressed and with glasses that actually fit them, much less help them to see.”

“That’s just absurd!” Lady Katherine spat. Lady Marie furrowed her brow at her sofa mate’s spiel, Lady Winters shook her head and Lady Campbell actually raised her eyes from her lap in a rare display, but none of the other women spoke up to agree with the lady of the house. Integra felt her cheeks burn and she tentatively reached up a hand to feel her frames, pushing them up her nose. Yes, they were a little large for her, but her father—she stopped her train of thought, swallowing hard. She had to keep her mind veered away from the deceased man; it still hurt to think of him, even though his death had been months ago. She wasn’t about to get teary-eyed in front of anyone, especially Lady Irons, who would probably take it as a favorable sign that her words had gone to heart.

“Well, now.” This was Lady Summerland again. She was staring down into her teacup, refusing to look up in the direction of the coffee table. Her sister looked astonished, blinking rapidly. Lady Katherine was staring at her as though she hadn’t been sure if she’d heard right. The woman took a sharp breath. “I don’t… suppose that… the frames of one’s spectacles constitute good breeding.” She swallowed quickly. Lady Foxx chewed her lip and Lady Winters took an unnecessarily long drink of her tea, nearly draining the cup. No one else piped up to defend Integra, so she decided to defend herself.

“I happen to like my glasses, Lady Irons,” she said as politely as she could muster. Instead of having a favorable effect, the sentence instead only increased the tension in the room. The other ladies either looked down at their laps or away; Lady Marie spared her a pitying glance before becoming interested in the doily on the table next to her. Lady Katherine’s tongue darted out to whet her lips, but even she didn’t look directly at Integra. Only the addressed woman stared at her, and with such a piercing glare that Integra thought twice about speaking again. Still, she was determined to finish her piece. “I don’t mind that they’re a little large for my face, even if other people think that they’re ridiculous.” _Surely there’s nothing in that answer to constitute bad breeding._ Yet she was underestimating her new opponent’s skill.

“Did no one ever teach you to hold your tongue to your elders?” the older woman snapped. “Well, I suppose they didn’t,” she added as an afterthought. “Seeing as they didn’t teach you anything else. But what can you expect?” she asked huffily, tapping Lady Grey. The woman jumped at being singled out, looking timidly at Lady Irons before sighing and staring back at her cup. She then looked through her lashes at Integra for a moment before lifting her head and staring at some fixed point just above Lady Katherine’s head, taking a dainty bite out of a biscuit.

“Spare the rod, spoil the child, or so they say,” she quoted cryptically. Integra wondered if that was meant for her or Lady Irons, but it seemed to pacify the latter.

“See? Take heed, girl.” She shook back her curls. “Then again, I have no choice but to blame genetics. We all know that Arthur was a drunkard and a reckless fool, even if he did do his job well enough that they didn’t throw him to the street. And when your family stems from _those_ sorts of Germans, well—what can I say?” said with a cold laugh and a nod sharp enough that it looked like it might sever her head from her bony neck. “It didn’t help that he refused to marry a proper Englishwoman. Who knows _what_ sort of blood came from that—I shan’t say it in this sort of company.”

Integra was silent, having to mentally take a moment to replay the words and process every slight about her family and upbringing one by one. A hot wash of unwarranted shame flooded and she grew angry at herself for flushing, knowing that her burning cheeks could be seen by everyone in the room, even _if_ her hair ‘hung in her face’. Her confusion and embarrassment turned into anger and she thought of standing up and throwing her tea into the old woman’s face. What good would it have done, though? It would have only cemented the notion that she was a wicked, heathen girl and then she would be no better off than before. Thankfully, she wasn’t alone in the battle; her godmother fluffed like an angry bird seeking to shelter its chick beneath its wing.

“Marjorie Irons, I have never in all my life heard such an unprecedented speech! You sound just… silly!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air and upsetting Integra’s teacup in the process. A drop of semi-warm liquid landed on her skirt and she frowned, hoping that Walter could get it out before it became a stain. This blue skirt was her favorite…. But there’d be time enough to think about that later, as Lady Katherine was still arguing. “… and we all know that you’ve got German roots too, so you shouldn’t even say anything about that either!”

“Please! Saying that my family and the van Helsing family are the same is like saying that a Penwood is the same as a Smith!” Lady Irons face was mottled in her anger. “You’d never see a von Carlson behaving in that manner! We were—are—a proud family, with a sense of ethics and honor instilled in us from our aristocracy alone! You didn’t see us dabbling in black magic and consorting with vam—” At this Lady Katherine gave such a start that the entire sofa moved, cushions and all.  Lady Foxx gave a little screech of alarm and there was a tinkling sound as the rim of her teacup cracked from the continuous shaking.

“Are you alright, darling?” Lady Winters asked her in a loud voice, as if trying to drown out the other woman.

“I’m just… a little nauseous,” Lady Foxx stammered, face ashen. The twins moved as far over as they could, one nearly sitting on the other’s lap in order to give her room.

“Take it to the lavatory if you must,” Lady Katherine insisted, waving a hand at her. “Not on my carpet.” She turned back to face the coffee table, but Integra saw the hand holding her cup was faintly trembling as well. Something clicked in her mind and it became clear as day what Lady Irons meant to say. _So they knew as well…._ “What were you saying, Margie!?” She tried to gather her emotion into an angry expression, but it was clear the upset had pushed the argument from her mind for the moment.

“Ah, I meant that you’d never see a von Carlson with such garish eyewear,” Lady Irons finished blandly, the fight seemingly gone from her as well. She looked embarrassed to have nearly let the _something_ slip out. Integra put her cup on the coffee table, the china clinking almost inaudibly against the wood. She looked Lady Irons in the eye and smiled broadly, feeling proud at what was about to happen. For once, she knew something that the others did as well, without having to be instructed like a child.

“Were you about to say ‘consorting with _vampires’_ , Lady Irons?” she asked sweetly, letting the sarcastic syrupiness roll from her tongue like the most potent of venoms. The room hushed every woman eyeing Integra with something akin to fear. Lady Irons narrowed her eyes, as if trying to see down into Integra’s soul and garner how much the girl knew. Lady Katherine had gone stiff as a board beside her, but now let out a peal of laughter.

“Vampires!?” she cackled, prompting the other women to laugh weakly as well. Only Lady Marie’s giggle seemed to be just as genuine. “Whatever made you think that, of all things? Has Walter been filling your head with fairy stories, dear?” Integra merely continued to smile, turning her knowing gaze to her godmother.

“No, I was just about to say that if Lady Irons needed one, she could use mine. Since her family didn’t consort with them. They’re really rather useful for taking care of unwanted trash,” she added confidentially. Her tone was now cold, an echo of the woman that she’d be in a few short years. “And mine is growing bored around the house, so I don’t think he’ll mind being released into the Irons’s home for a bit.”

The resounding silence was deafening. Integra expected shouts for her insolence, threats to tell Walter about her bad behavior, even a well-placed smack for her sheer cheek. But instead all the women looked at her with a strange light in their eyes. Lady Marie’s spoon missed her teacup, clicking the side of the saucer and chipping the edge before marring the floor with a perfectly round stain. It continued to rattle, the woman’s hand trembling as she looked from Integra to Lady Katherine and back, her cheeks losing an alarming amount of blood by the second. Her cheerful face had lost its glow, and it didn’t suit her in the slightest. In all their eyes was an old fear that was meant for something greater, something that was before Integra’s time.

“Y-Yours?” Lady Montgomery asked at last. With her breaking the silence, the questions poured forth.

“What do you mean?” This was Lady Grey, her mouth twisted in a grimace.

“ _Integra_ …” Lady Katherine inhaled slowly, one hand on her shoulder as she turned Integra around to look her in the eye. “Are you being serious? You’ve found—you’ve gotten a vampire?” She looked as though she were trying to keep calm in the face of death, rather than sitting in the parlor with tea and cakes.

“I have,” she answered proudly, rolling her shoulders back and puffing with a bit of her own ego. She, the youngest, and the ruler over a vampire when all of them couldn’t even imagine the possibility!

“Does Walter know about this vampire?” Lady Summerland asked with the utmost seriousness. “Have you told him?”

“Of course he knows!” Integra exclaimed, twisting in her seat to glare at the woman. “How could he not know?” There was another, shorter silence and then the room seemed to explode.

“O-oh! Oh goodness me! I—I’m having a panic attack!” Lady Foxx gasped to no one in particular, her face losing the little amount of blood it had. “I’m going to faint! This can’t be good for my health!” And with that, her prediction came true and she swooned. Lady Montgomery looked concerned, standing up and fanning the limp woman with a napkin.

“ _Un désastre, un désastre complet,_ ” she muttered to herself as she frantically waved the makeshift fan over the waxen features. 

“Someone ought to march down there and make Walter explain himself!” Lady Winters demanded, fist striking her thigh defiantly. She didn’t, however, make to move from her seat. “He ought to explain!” she repeated when no one bothered to pay any attention to her. “How could he keep something so vital a secret from us all?”

“If it was indeed ‘us all’,” Lady Grey finally answered her. “I have no doubt that he probably told the men, and they all seemed it fit enough to keep it from us.” She huffed, shaking her head. Lady Foxx let out a breath that sounded as though her soul was finally escaping its mortal coils, and Lady Montgomery continued her fanning with renewed vigor, looking panicky herself.

“How?” Lady Marie whimpered, one hand on her temple. Tears pooled in her eyes, her natural reaction to stressful stimuli that actually bothered her to the point of concern. “How can he be _back_?” she asked. “Arthur said… he promised that he’d never come back!” she squeaked, burying her face in her hands and sobbing with squeaky little gasps. “He promised!” As Integra watched, Lady Irons actually put a comforting arm around her shoulder and allowed the small woman to lean on her.

“There there, stop making such a fool of yourself,” she sighed in her usual snappish way, but lacking much of the bite she might have gave under less shocking circumstance. “Calm down, Marie. It’s not as though—”

“I’ll never forget what I saw, in Berlin,” Lady Summerland cut her off. Her eyes were focused on the mantle, but there was a distant gleam in them that Integra recognized from the soldiers under her command. They wore the same look whenever they recalled what Walter often referred to as simply ‘bad times’. “Those men, and those… those telegraph poles….” She shuddered. “I’ll never forget it for as long as I live. That _monster_ —” Her sister put her arms around her and squeezed, stroking the neatly parted hair.

“It’s alright, shh,” she murmured. “It won’t happen again, I’m sure of it. Things are different now.”

“You’re right,” said Lady Grey. “It ought to be worse now, for there’s no SS to waste _its_ energies on.” Lady Montgomery cleared her throat, looking up from Lady Foxx for a minute. Her bright eyes locked onto Integra, sitting in the midst of the chaos with a look of confusion.

“Until zis ‘orrible mess can be sorted out,” she said firmly, above the ruckus of Lady Marie’s squeaking and Lady Winter’s comforting of her sister, “Ze little one can come to my ‘ouse and stay.”

“But my house is farther away from Hellsing manor,” Lady Grey offered. “She’s certainly welcome there; now that Louis has gone to his own house, there’s a spare guest room she can be put in.” 

“It won’t matter where she stays, if that creature gets a notion to go after her,” Lady Katherine butted in. “She could be sent to the Cape of Good Hope and it wouldn’t do any good at all; it would only cause more property damage. But if she _did_ stay anywhere,” she concluded with a flinty gaze. “It would be with _me_.” Her face turned down to her young seatmate and she smiled kindly. “Don’t worry, dear. Aunt Kitty will protect you.” Integra stared blankly back up at her, battling with indignation and exasperation alike. Her face twisted purposely and she huffed before reaching up and adjusting her ‘unladylike’ glasses.

“Thank you, Lady Katharine, but that is not necessary. My vampire will not harm me." There was a hard look in the girl's eyes. "He protected me once already, from my Uncle, when he tried to kill me." Lady Katherine’s smile faded and the women shared another uncomfortable glance between them.

“My dear, I suppose he _did_ kill your uncle, but sparing you was most likely just a whim, as much as I hate to say it aloud.” It was clear that for once, Lady Katherine was trying to tread a subject carefully, and not doing a very good job of it. “Your much safer if he’s locked away in some dark dungeon and left to ro— well, to the annals of history,” she laughed nervously.

“I’m afraid I have to disagree,” Integra replied, making an effort to be kind in return and assuage the older woman’s fears. “For one, he didn’t _kill_ my uncle. I did that myself. And, you see, as head of the family, I—”

“How many times must you be told!? Don’t talk back to your elders, child!” Lady Irons hissed. “Especially on matters that you couldn’t even _begin_ to understand!”

“Margie,” Lady Katherine chided, giving her peer an imploring look. “Let’s at least hear the child out.”

“She doesn’t even know what she’s begun, letting him loose!” Lady Irons retorted. “Who, pray tell, is keeping control of him?”

“I am!” Integra interjected, thoroughly confused. They acted as though the world itself were ending, just because she had a vampire now. Why couldn’t they understand that she had things under control? Nothing particularly bad had happened since she’d let him out of the basement, and that had been weeks ago! While a part of her _was_ curious as to what had happened with the telegraph poles in Berlin, the rest of her was trying to decide on the best way to show the women that she was in charge. She doubted that bringing him here would solve anything—it would only make the women more afraid. He _could_ look quite daunting, when in the wrong light.

 “We’ve got to speak with Walter,” Lady Marie finally said in a shaky voice, wiping at her cheeks with her handkerchief. Lady Winters nodded vehemently in agreement, her arms crossed over her chest, and Lady Grey reached for the silver bell on the coffee table. Lady Katherine reached forward with a speed that surprised Integra and laid her own hand over it, a pensive frown on her lips.

“Do you really believe that the men knew?” she asked Lady Grey in a quiet, very uncharacteristic tone. The woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat, face screwed up in concentrated thought. Finally she put a hand on her chin.

“I think that Walter would have deemed it necessary. I know he was a rowdy sort of youth, but I can’t believe that he’d actually hold back that sort of important information.”

“Well then.” The silver bell was left on the table and Lady Katherine’s eyes gleamed with a dark light. “Do you think you’re up for walking the ledge, Marie?” The red-faced woman stared deep into the hostess’s eyes, biting her lip, and then nodded. The women looked at each other, and then stood as one. “Come along, Integra dear,” she said absently as they all moved towards the window, skirts swooshing and heels clicking in the new, purposeful silence.

“Where are we going?” Integra asked, baffled as the women pooled near the windows. There was no balcony, not in the sitting room window anyway. No one answered, but Lady Summerland motioned her with a hand gesture and she rose from the sofa to join them. Lady Irons and Lady Grey opened the windows, letting in a gust of fresh breeze that ruffled the curtains and brought the lovely fragrance of roses.

“Take care,” Lady Grey said to Lady Marie. “You haven’t done this in a few years, my dear. Don’t take a tumble now.” Integra balked at the woman, who was down to her stocking feet and working on the stockings themselves. She yanked them off and stuffed them down into her shoes, her free hand gathering her longer skirts around her until they were above her knees. She looked up at them all and, despite the traces of tears still lingering on her cheeks and lashes, gave them all a bright, if not weak smile.

“I don’t plan to, Lady Grey.” Before Integra could blink, she was on the ledge of the window and peering out, holding onto the casement with one slender hand. She seemed to gage something and then swung around the casement and out of site. Integra pushed past the other women until she was Lady Katherine’s side, one hand on the ledge as she peered out after her.

“I hope it’s still there,” Lady Katherine muttered to herself, allowing Integra to press up beneath her chin in order to lean out the window. “It’s been years since I’ve even looked at that old thing.” Integra meant to ask what she meant, but she was more interested in watching Lady Marie’s tiny, childlike feet carefully navigate the thin ledge of the molding that skirted the length of the house. For a normal ladies foot, the ledge would be too narrow. Integra knew that she could probably cross it easily enough, with patience and good balance. But Lady Marie, despite her age, had naturally tiny feet. It seemed that she also apparently had perfect balance. She made it seem easy to cross over to a small balcony that was connected to one of the spare bedrooms, if Integra had to guess.

“Oh, she made it!” Lady Winters breathed happily. Lady Marie waved to them from her safer spot and then walked over to the wall, which was half-hidden behind a larger vertical line of molding. Afterwards, she kneeled, fiddled with something beyond the balcony, and then there was a deft _click_ that rang through the air. All the women at the window froze for a moment, and Lady Marie froze as well before slowly straightening up and walking back across the balcony. She hopped back up on the ledge, but now something was clutched tightly in her hand.

“What does she have?” Integra asked Lady Katherine, who smiled back down at her.

“Well, you’re about to be initiated into a well-kept secret that has nothing to do with government… well, not in a way.”

“Yes, and you better keep your mouth shut about it,” Lady Winters warned. “If it gets out, we’ll know who to blame.”

“Oh, hush. Our darling Integra won’t tell a soul, will you?” Lady Katherine purred. Integra dutifully shook her head and then they all had to move back as Lady Marie jumped in off the ledge.

“My foot slipped in that last moment,” she admitted breathlessly. “It wasn’t as easy as when I was in my thirties.” She opened her clenched fist to show nothing more than a common two-way radio. “I still remembered how we used to set it up, though. And there wasn’t any feedback, so no one’s using the frequency.”

“Where was that at?” Integra asked, thoroughly puzzled. She wished that she could have seen around the vertical molding. It was all so strange! Lady Marie smiled at her.

“In a little dovecote. It’s nailed to the wall, but there haven’t been doves in… well, I daresay forty years.”

“We commandeered it for our own purposes,” Lady Summerland added. “After all, one has to keep on top of things.” She laughed softly. “All Lady Marie had to do was crack the window a smidgen and rest the other radio on the upper sill. A bit of glue holds the button down. We’ve been doing this for as long as meetings have been held here, haven’t we Kitty?”

“Still, wasn’t that window clicking loudly today?” Lady Grey said. “I thought for a moment that we were found out!” Lady Katherine put a finger to her lips and then without further ado, Lady Marie clicked the on switch. There was a static-filled pause, and then Sir Irons came through as clearly as though he were standing in the room with them.

“—can’t see what’s to be done about it, unless we send in some specialized forces.” The women leaned in, staring intently at the transceiver in Lady Marie’s hand. “Do we have money in the budget for that?”

“Can’t say that we do,” Sir Penwood sighed. “We’re strung out as it is, I’m afraid. Training troops and sending them to Russia is too much for any budget. We’ve got to somehow make do with what we have already.” 

            “Saying it’s one thing, doing is another,” Sir Walsh interrupted them both. “Speaking for myself, I know that none of my men are strong enough to take on an entire town of Ghouls _and_ a pair of vampires. How about you, Sir Grey?”

            “I can’t say much for mine, either. I’m still training new ones; lost too many in the last big showdown.”

            “Well,” Sir Irons huffed. “And you, Walter?”

            “Our men could possibly handle the Ghouls, but unless the vampires are alone when we come for them, there’s no way. A pair of vampires—especially if they’re partnered, instead of just working together—would be far too advanced for our soldiers. If I may suggest, though: Alucard could be sent in to deal with the vampires while the men work in the town.” There was a pause, and Integra could hear every woman in the room hold her breath.

            “Naturally, but what of the damage costs? We all know how _he_ is.” Sir Irons sounded displeased.

            “Compared to the costs of training fleets of new men and covering up the others’ deaths?” Walter was confident. “Miniscule.”

            “I still say we ought to have locked him up the minute everyone was safe.” This sounded like Sir Summerland, speaking around his pipe. “It’s too dangerous.”

            “It’s not our call to make,” Sir Irons said. “It’s Walter’s business to order the Hellsing household; Her Majesty said as much when we brought the matter to her, didn’t she?”

            “It’s Miss Integra’s business,” Walter corrected swiftly. “He obeys me because he wants to, but he obeys Miss Integra because he must. That’s all the difference in the world. In the end, it’s her decision whether to keep him out or lock him away, and I will stand by that decision, no matter what the outcome may be.” Integra said nothing, but deep within her a vein of compassion bubbled and swelled. _Walter_ …. 

            “Well, in any case,” Sir Irons faltered, and Integra could _hear_ the dismay written across his face. “Sir Penwood, ring the bell for the steward and tell him to get the cars ready. I don’t think there’s anything more we can decide on today. In conclusion, gentlemen: Sir Grey, I trust you to—”

            “That’s it, then.” There was a deft click and the radio was turned off. Integra nearly called out for it to be turned back on, afraid that there might be some last minute command that she’d miss. But the women’s curiosities were satisfied, and Lady Marie was already on the ledge and preparing to make the dangerous trip again to get the other radio off the window. “We ought to do it earlier next time, so we can hear more.”

            “Hear more of _what_?” Lady Irons huffed as she watched Lady Marie through the casement. “It’s been the same pointless war dribble for nearly twenty years now.”

            “She’s not wrong,” Lady Summerland sighed. “Still, I suppose we found out the answer.”

            “And so?”  Lady Montgomery tsked with a small shake of her head.

            “And so what?” Lady Katherine replied in the same tone. “That’s it.”

            “Well, _I’m_ not going to take it so easily,” Lady Winters growled, her hands still fisted. “My husband has another thing coming if he thinks he can pull one on me. Why would he not even tell me?” she asked her sister.

            “Why, the same reason Laurie didn’t tell me,” Lady Summerland huffed, nails drumming on her crossed arms. “Probably thought we couldn’t handle it, as if—”

            “Really, as _if_!” her twin concluded irritably, shaking her head.

            “You’re right,” Lady Marie said as she climbed for the fourth time through the casement and sat upon it, pulling her stockings back out of her shoes. “It’s as if we preened ourselves through the war, fragile as china dolls and _not_ teaching the troops self-defense courses.”  

            “Pah!” Lady Montgomery spat, nose wrinkling. “As if we couldn’t fight our way through the enemy lines!”

            “As though we didn’t carry our fathers’ secret messages back and forth between the Knights,” Lady Katherine rolled her eyes.

            “As if _we_ weren’t in Germany at the same time!” Lady Irons scowled. “And in Berlin at that!”

            “Berlin, that’s exactly right,” Lady Herveaux agreed. Integra listened, wide-eyed, as the women forgot her presence. Weren’t these the women who had just panicked at the thought that Alucard was out and about? Why were they talking as if they were unafraid of anything? She’d heard Walter’s stories of WWII and the horrors of Ghoul armies, but… was that what these women meant? Perhaps it was the principle of the matter, she decided as they continued to talk over one another while closing the window, putting back the curtains, and then making their way towards the door. Lady Katherine paused and turned to her, offering an arm silently.

            “Integra? Aren’t you coming?”

            “Yes,” she said, coming close but not taking the proffered arm. It went around to the small of her back instead and she was guided out the door along with the crowd of women, who had gone oddly silent once they passed the threshold. It _was_ the principle of the matter, she realized, once they had gone downstairs and met up with the men. Those women, the same ones that bickered over fashion and were now meeting their husband’s words with cold indifference, had put themselves in danger for a cause they believed in, just as if they were men. Whether fighting for Partisans, or delivering coded messages, they had risen to the challenge. And even if they were frightened at the thought of Alucard, they would have risen again as one to defend a new objective—herself—from the perceived threat. That their own husbands, who knew of their exploits, would leave them out in the cold for no reason but some paltry excuse of their own? It was rude, inexcusable, deplorable behavior.

            She looked at Walter, who had not been blameless in this affair, and a new idea dawned that had never before entered her head. Walter was a _man_. This was something that he wouldn’t understand, even if she tried to explain how she _did_ understand without having been through the same thing herself, and furthermore—as a man, he’d never experience it the same way a woman would, if at all. Was this, then, what he meant when he spoke of things that he couldn’t teach her? She eyed him for a moment before turning away in a halfhearted snub of her own and following the women out to where the chauffeurs waited with the cars.

            “Hmm?” Walter tilted his head as he watched his young charge head to the cars. She’d never looked at him like that before, and he’d expected her to ask about the meeting, but… there she went, just like all the others. And that expression; it was strictly _Katherine_ -esque in nature. It startled him, frankly.

            “It astounds me how little she resembles either of her parents.” Sir Irons adjusted his top hat as he watched the youngster climb into the car, this time in the backseat instead of the passenger side. “I wonder where her looks come from? Not from Arthur, to be sure.”

            “She is pretty,” Lt. Walsh chuckled as he lit a cigarette. “Feisty, too. Already she’s been asking Marie and me to teach her a few moves. I thought about giving her some judo lessons, eh, Walter?”

            “Well—”

            “She gets her attitude from Arthur,” Sir Penwood interjected with a sigh. “She demands more ridiculous things every quarter. New helicopter, fancy new missile system, enhanced weaponry….”

            “Just say no, man,” Sir Irons huffed. “I’ve looked at your records. Complain all you like, but you keep buying her the new toys as fast as she sends a request.”

            “Well, she is my goddaughter,” Sir Penwood mumbled to his shoes. “And when she gives you that one certain look, it’s hard to say no. It’s the same one Arthur always wore. It brings back memories….” He looked up to the ceiling. “And then there’s Kitty on the other side, whipping out the checkbook every time the child sneezes. New clothes, new cutlery, a party here, a party there, hair ribbons and every other gaudy thing that Integra doesn’t even really _wear_.”

            “Ought not to let the child hang around Kate and the others too much, old boy.” Walsh laughed harder, the sound bouncing around the foyer. “She’ll rub off on her.” This time it was Walter who let out a heartfelt sigh.

            “To be fair… that’s what I’m a little afraid of.”

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Afterword: Wow, this has been in the works for forever. I really just wanted an excuse to write more about young Integra and the layyyyyydies. (Mung Dal voice) 
> 
> It was actually made October 8th, 2015, and written on little by little ever since. So… here! Haha, leave a review and let me know if you likey. Or not, I don’t care.


End file.
